


A Play Without Comedy

by Zodiac



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emet is a ball of depression and nostalgia, Implied Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus/14th, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, This was just my excuse to see how much angst I could fit on a page, he has An Amount of problems and the WoL is only one of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: Recreating Amaurot was no-doubt a strain on Emet-Selch's aether, but more than mere magic was taxed in the remaking of the ancient city, especially when it came time to make a facsimile of a certain someone.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	A Play Without Comedy

The skyscrapers came first. Towering and overwhelming buildings, giants built by and for giants. Effortlessly, they had risen from the ground, now far too fine and soft to act as the foundation for such behemoths in actuality.

But none of what he had done was rooted in reality.

Sturdy stone made of aether lovingly cradled countless windows, a light illuminating each, warm and inviting whether it be home or office or store or something else that lay behind the thick panes of glass. Fuzzy carpets of moss stubbornly clung to the outside, looking to any who might gaze upon it that it had been growing there for decades rather than just put up like a mere decoration. Up and up and up it traveled, contorting in ways architecture should be unable to above the top floor, the stone splitting and twining together. An oceanic touch to an otherwise drab exterior that he prided himself on even now.

One such tower would have been impressive enough, but Emet-Selch was not content until he had created enough to form a skyline where there was no sky, stretching on and out beyond the eyes of mortals, even beyond the eyes of the people these buildings were intended for.

Next came the streets, pavement effortlessly woven in between the veritable labyrinth of those towers, connecting them following blueprints that now only existed in the fraying far reaches of his memories. The stones fit together so that not a single crack was wider than it should have been and decor was placed at proper intervals along them: a tree here, or perhaps a bush, a bench or two for resting, and sweeping arches with lights nestled in their framework before particularly important buildings. And then there were the streetlights, even more numerous than the buildings. The oppressive gloom permeating the bottom of the ocean was nothing compared to them, fleeing before the aether-born illumination.

And then there were a million smaller details to add. That little coffee shop nearby the Bureau that he always visited before heading in to work. The volumes upon volumes of books in the library he had pored over time and again. Some details were only half-remembered, fuzzy and ethereal no matter how hard he tried to grasp at the ancient memories (Was that especially soft patch of grass he enjoyed napping on here or over there?) But, eventually, he had the city of Amaurot rebuilt, or at least, a sizable portion of it.

But what was a city without its people?

Even with his seemingly-boundless reserves of creation magic, he couldn't recreate a soul, but… he could certainly create simulacra of life, a fitting falsehood for this equally false city.

In the streets and buildings, they formed out of nothingness, such impossibly tall figures cloaked in black robes and wearing a plethora of different masks. Walking, talking, reading, idly going about their days as they had millennia ago, before any of the calamities struck, before the world was torn asunder. The Bureau attendants, the children, the ones obsessed with discussing rhetoric, all of those and more were remade… All save one, that is.

The Fourteenth.

They were the one who brought ruin to all this in the first place, the joker who toppled this lovingly-stacked house of cards. They were the one who brought that Zodiark-damned  _ Light _ to destroy everything they worked so hard to cultivate, shattering everything and everyone across time and space. As such, they had no place in this city,  _ his  _ city… Besides, at this point he was recreating, they had conveniently turned tail and left right as their people needed them most… right when  _ he _ needed them most.

Damn them…

Taking a brief break to settle down, he found himself pondering over whether or not to include one other in his vision of times past.

...Hythlodaeus.

Caring and perceptive and a massive pain in the arse all at once, he was so,  _ so  _ dear to the Ascian, even now, with the span of millennia bridging the gap between the last time they had seen one another. Being so important, one would think the choice to include him would be obvious, but… could he handle it? After so long apart, after being filled with so much cynicism towards those around him, could Emet-Selch handle seeing something so very close to his old friend and lover, yet be all-too aware that it  _ wasn't _ him?

...The question was merely a formality, something for his mind to worry away at while the rest of him  _ knew _ what he was going to do,  _ knew _ that, of all people, Hythlodaeus deserved a place here… even if he would be able to see through the smoke and mirrors, the gossamer strand puppet strings holding this facade together.

He raised his fingers, the snap dulled by the water around him, crushing just like the lump in his throat was crushing down his words, his anxieties. Somewhere within this new, old metropolis, a recreation of Hythlodaeus now roamed. But not here; despite having created him, he wasn't certain if he could deal with seeing him right now, if ever.

For now, he couldn't stew on such matters. Instead, he opened a dark portal to the other matter of his attention, the person now going by the moniker of Warrior of Darkness.

He would show them the truth…  _ all of it. _

* * *

Only after that smothering light blanketed the world once more, only after the waves parted before the Warrior's ingenuity did Emet-Selch lie on the bed he had peacefully slept in countless lifetimes ago. It was far too large for just one person, especially one the size of his mortal vessel. Black, silken sheets stretched to either side of him, leaving him stranded in a sea of midnight. Even now with his apartment so far away from the light of the sun, the lights set into the ceiling were a dim, cool blue that barely illuminated the rest of the room.

Two nightstands and, at the foot of the bed, a chest, all simple yet elegant in design. Bookshelves, both mounted and standing, lined the walls, however, it was not merely books that graced them. Kitschy little knick-knacks were present on many of them thanks to Hythlodaeus' suggestion: seashells and orbs that glimmered with stars, small iridescent crystals and flowers that were pressed and preserved, little baubles to make the place more homey. In lesser quantities were intricate miniatures of various creations: a three-headed dog and a grape-purple dragon, among others. A touch that the Fourteenth had brought to his home, one that he had been too busy to rid himself of in the chaos leading up to the first calamity… and one that he found himself reluctant to get rid of even now.

He closed his eyes against the barest hints of light, against the reminders that cut into his heart with a serrated blade, unable to be pulled out for fear of making the wound worse. It was while he had his eyes shut against the world that he felt the mattress beneath him dip down, and not from his own insignificant weight. After the Fourteenth left, only one other person had access to his apartment…

"I gather that it has been a while, Hades…"

Oh  _ Zodiark _ , when was the last time he had been called by that name? Far, far too long, he reasoned by how it took his mind a moment to realize the question was directed at him. Emet-Selch was for work. Solus zos Galvus was for deceiving the mortals, along with the myriad other personas he had taken up over the years. Hades?

Hades was for home, and he had not been referred to as such ever since it was destroyed.

Slowly, Hades opened his eyes and there he was, seated on the side of the bed, wearing the traditional black robe of their people and his usual white mask, a hint of that infuriating, endearing  _ smile _ on his features. "...You could say that, Hyth. I would go as far as to call it a long time, but that would be a matter of personal preference."

"I see…" A ponderous tilt of his head and, oh, he had forgotten how slow Amaurotines were about everything in comparison to the mortals; immortality tended to take the urgency out of most matters. "How long, then?"

Hades sat up, abused joints cracking and popping in protest and he was pleased to see that Hythlodaeus still winced in response to hearing them. "Centuries. Millennia. You know I was never good with dates and everything blends together even more over such a long time."

"That it does, but…" That head tilted further, smile widening. “I did not believe you could end up hunching over  _ quite _ this far over the years. You are far shorter than I remember, Hades~”

He huffed up at him, trying his best to look exasperated at Hythlodaeus’ teasing, but unable to keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ah, he truly missed this. “This is my vessel for hiding amongst the mortals and I will have you know that it is hardly  _ my _ fault that they are smaller than we were. I yet have uses for this, so it would be a bit of a waste to abandon it prematurely.” He would have asked how Hythlodaeus knew it was him, but he had made certain to give him the soul-seeing capabilities the real version of him had so very long ago.

A slow nod and the Amaurotine shifted in place, abruptly uncertain about his next words. "Speaking of mortals, I met them, the Fourteenth. They do not seem to remember any of what transpired."

"They do not." He confirmed, shaking his head in disgust. "I have been feeding them hints, trying to probe their knowledge, but they seem just as ignorant as the rest of the incomplete beings that swarm the stars."

“Mmm…” He fell silent for a time as though thinking this information over… or perhaps unwilling to pursue the subject any further. One of those large hands slowly fell to the mattress, fingers trailing an indecipherable pattern into the sheets. “...I missed you. I am aware that, from my perspective, our time apart must seem akin to an instant, but still… I missed you.”

“Yes.” He agreed. “Yes, it is but an instant compared to how long we have been separated, how long I have roamed these stars.” Alone. Certainly, he had at least part of the Convocation by his side, but their companionship did not replace the feeling of fingers twining together in the darkness, of sweet, drowsy smiles in the morning, of all the gentle, casual acts of affection they took part in throughout the day. For centuries, he had yearned for those previously insignificant actions back, a bone-deep ache that could not be soothed by any pathetic mortal.

But now…

He stood — he had to in order to come anywhere close to Hythlodaeus’ height even with him sitting —and carefully picked his way over to the Amaurotine, every step measured so as not to fall on the mattress. Once before him, he reached up with hands that held a slight tremor to them. “Need to see your face again…” And then the hood was pushed back, the mask pulled down to the bed.

Ah, he was just as gorgeous as he remembered him to be. A halo of shoulder-length white hair framed his concerned features, silver eyes staring right down into his gold ones, that too-good perception of his likely picking up on every minute detail of his body language. After a moment to appreciate his features, Hades leaned in, pressing his mouth to the Amaurotine’s and, oh, for the briefest of times, it was as though they had never been apart.

His eyes fluttered shut as his hands slipped down to cradle the back of his neck, leaning into the taste of freshly-made coffee mixing wonderfully with the flavor of sweets that Hythlodaeus was always fond of, all wrapped up in incredibly soft lips. A slow, heavy breath exhaled as the other clearly enjoyed the kiss as much as he was, wrapping sweeping arms around him and holding him tight to his chest.

This continued for as long as he could draw it out, but he eventually had to pull away for air. When he did so, eyes slipping open once more, he froze in place. In his vision, his own soul thrummed beneath his mortal vessel, a deep crimson haze that constantly shifted within the boundaries of his flesh. But, where there should be something similar for Hythlodaeus, there was nothing, nothing but a void where his soul should have been.

Damn that vision of his.

It sent him crashing back to reality, to the fact that this was not his old lover, but some flawed facsimile of him, born of his own magic and desperation swirling and combining together. In an instant, all his hopes had withered, turning to ash along with the lingering taste of better times on his lips and he leaned back ever-so slightly, as though beginning to pull away.

But wait… he always was good at playing pretend; all the roles he had taken up to guide the mortals to ruin proved that much, all the times he had worn different masks of flesh and steeped himself so fully and completely in his part that he sometimes had difficulty remembering it was but an act at all. The only difference between those times and now were he had taken up those duties to quicken the Rejoining whereas this was for his own selfish reasons.

After everything he had done, everything he had suffered through, he deserved to indulge in some measure of comfort, at least for a time.

Here he was, the master of a fake city, a fake populace, a fake lover, willingly being tricked by the selfsame smoke and mirrors and gossamer threads he had put in place to make this lie seem somewhat believable.

And he called the mortals pathetic.

He blinked away that damnable soul-searching vision of his, blinked away the tears beginning to well up at the corners of his eyes, and buried his face in Hythlodaeus’ chest so he wouldn’t have to see that worried look of his. His arms trailed down, wrapping around him as much as they could and squeezing so very, very tightly as if it might bring him back, make this shade of his lover whole again.

“...I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and wanted to screech at me in a manner similar to socializing, then you can find my Twitter right [here](https://twitter.com/HippestGlitch).


End file.
